Dragon Mage
by Sasoriza
Summary: It's been seven years since the Immortals War, and Tortall is once more reigned with peace. But what shall happen when an Scanran with a gift beyond belief, who shouldnt even exist enters the borders? The gods are angry, and someone will pay the price...
1. Prologue

Seven years have come and gone since Tortall went head to head against the forbidden creatures known as Immortals, and the the two realms were saved by the 16 year god-born girl known as Daine. Yet the dragons have not forgotten in the span of seven years, and they have not forgotten the dragon infant, Skysong. A child is brought into the word, different from the rest, with a gift unlike any others. This is where our story begins.  
  
  
"Damned, be it, woman!" The midwife screamed. "If a cow can do it, you can as well!"   
  
The laboring woman lay at her side, drops of persperation beading across her forehead, now crimson with pain. The midwife knew she was to die, but if the father found his child dead, she herself would surely be punished.   
  
"Just get the child out, woman! If you're to die, so be it!" A groan echoed from the mother, and with her dying breath, a baby was born. A small girl. The father would not be pleased, for sure. The man wanted a boy-child, but this was not a matter of hers. With a sigh of relief, she cleaned the baby and beckoned to her apprentice.  
  
"Rebecca," she called out, "go tell the man of the death of his wife." Rebecca was obviously worried. Seeing her hesitantion, she lifted her lip in a disgusted snarl. "Go! Run if he hits you."  
  
With that, the fair-haired girl skittered out of the room like a frightened mouse. The copper-topped midwife wasn't from Scanra, and was surprised to find that the baby's small amount of hair was a reddish brown, darker than her own. What was odder, was that both mother and father were of Scanra, and had fair hair and skyblue eyes like the rest of them. She turned her attention back onto the newborn.  
  
She gasped, her face, creased with worrylines, became twisted and deformed with horror. The baby's eyes were changing colors. Red, blue, green, grey.   
  
"Oh, Goddess," She dropped the baby on the dirtpacked floor and began to scream, running out.   
  
With that, the little girl began to cry. 


	2. Chapter One : The Runaway

Chapter one. ^^ Very happy, 'cause I have been planning to put this thing together for a long time. The reason I'm not a very "experienced" fic writer is because I have difficulty obtaining the character's personality. Plus, most of my plots suck. But I find that after 7 years of reading Tamora Pierce, I think this fanfic may be different. Read and review, if possible. Thanks, enjoy ^_^ (UPDATE: Stupid Notepad. Now I have to write with Word. * shudder * I hate Word!)  
  
  
  
Most of the forests of the far north of Tortall were uninhabited. Shamefully, it was a lovely wood, redwood trees towering overhead, sunbeams shimmering through the thick canopy of leaves. But the forest wasn't favored, for it lay on the border of Scanra, the realm of poverty, pirates, thieves, and blood. Scanrans were masters of the sea, raiding the shores of every realm in its grasp. The fair haired, sapphire eyes of the Scanran's were despised and feared by most.  
  
A huge ruckus of rustling leaves emerged from a nearby patch of bushes. A young girl with long burnt red hair and amber eyes tried to whack the thick branches with a stick. Tanned face was worn and bleeding from being lashed at by the wilderness. She collapsed in the clearing, panting heavily.  
  
"This is just wonderful," She murmured to herself haughtily. "I'm stuck in this gods-forsaken forest with hardly any supplies or 'nuttin!" Her accent was rough, slightly accented Common. "I wish - " The young woman stopped herself suddenly and sighed.  
  
"At least I've left them. There's nothing good back home. Me bein' different, and all." The girl heaved a sigh. "Different is well enough sometimes, but in this case..."  
  
Feeling sudden pangs of hunger, the redhead began to rummage through her pack, hoping to unearth something edible.  
  
"Yes!" She cried, victorious, pulling out her hand, fingers clutched around a thin, leather pouch. Inside was a mish-mash of trail mixes, preserved in salt.  
  
Bit by bit, the girl ate the mixture, remembering the place she had come. Father shain't be that much bothered when he finds me missing. Always away at war, what did it mean anyways? She made a gruesome face to herself. I hate boats, just as well. And then there's the different thing again. I look different from all the rest, with their yellow hair and blue eyes. And I know I'm odd on the inside, too. My eyes ... and that time in the wood, "Zekan, Zekan!" they said. They kept calling and calling, but I couldn't hear...  
  
The Scanran known as Zekan looked to find her trail mixture empty of all contents. With a depressing groan, she got up and shoved the leather pouch back into her pack.  
  
As she began her toil in the moist forest once more, the forest began to change. It seemed subtle at first, but it was increasing, and swiftly. Zekan's eyes scanned to the top of the trees, the wood suddenly growing eerily dark.  
  
"This is very odd... Hell-oooo?" The Scanran called, half expecting an answer. But the only answer was her echo.  
  
Or that's what she thought.  
  
If Zekan had been her normal self, she might have noticed the odd patching on the ground, as well as the irregular rock patterns. Unfortunately, this was not so, and she easily tumbled through the trap, falling into a pit.  
  
She cried out as she fell, landing on dirt as hard as brick. A crushing pain sprang up her leg when she landed.  
  
"Dammit!" She swore, "A trap made by hunters." Wincing, Zekan examined the foot, only to find - with a groan of displeasure - that it had been badly sprained.  
  
"Just as well," she grumbled, "since this cursed pit is at the least 10 feet deep." With that, a chorus of 'colorful' language stranded from her mouth.  
  
A chilling breeze entered the pit, and suddenly the Scanran felt cold and alone. It's not like I've never felt this way before… She thought to herself.  
  
Yet this time, a voice answered back.  
  
Yes, but this time, it's quite different -- Zekanvealadas Haddemsran.  
  
--------------------------  
  
"Daine," the voice said, "Listen."  
  
"Who are you?" the woman replied.  
  
"You shall know in time. Seven years... we have not forgotten."  
  
Daine started. "Seven years?" She knew she was dreaming. All that could be seen was a fine, ash-gray mist. "W - where are you??"  
  
"Where I always have been, Weiryn's daughter. You shall remember."  
  
"Weiryn's daughter? A - are you a god?" It wasn't like she hadn't encountered them before.  
  
"A god?!" the voice bellowed, "Me? A pride less god? I think not! Now, hush, and listen!" The voice had grown demanding, and Daine obeyed. "They are coming. We have sent her, Wingjade as well. Be prepared. I know little of the mortal realm, so listen well. Do not judge by appearance. Remember, they're coming. They shall oppose them."  
  
"What?" The woman protested, "It doesn't make sense! They and them? Odd's bobs!" Her dream self scowled, stubborn chin stuck outward in defiance to the voice.  
  
"I must leave, Weiryn's daughter. Have faith, mortal."  
  
Yet Daine protested once more, "Wait!"  
  
But he was gone. 


	3. Chapter Two : Sirk

Yay! Chapter Two! Sorry it took me so long. Homework. Lots. Plus, the time it takes for FF.net to upload this darned thing . Anywho, as you people can obviously see, I use the word "damn" quite frequently. -__-; Okay, here's the next chapter. Don't have much to say in the A/N, so I'll shut-up now. ^^ There's a lot of waking up and falling asleep in this chapter, kind of boring.  
  
  
  
Daine awoke; a thin layer of glossy sweat covered her face. "W - who?" Her mind was running with questions. "Who spoke to me? Not a god, then who?"  
  
The woman had an odd history, and was often visited in dreams by her mother, father, or guardian, the badger god. Seven years ago, the Gallan- born girl was swept into the realm of the gods and caught in the middle of two wars, thereby known as the "Immortals War," for the strange, beastly creatures known as immortals had taken a great role in it.  
  
Glancing out the window, she noticed the sun, which was quite high in the sky already. She cried out in mild alarm, surprised how late it was. Tossing off the light covers, she practically threw herself out of bed and scrambled about her room, dressing as she went. Daine hastily dragged a brush through her dusty brown curls and splashed some cold water on her face. Straightening her shirt, the young woman headed out the door.  
  
'Chirrup!!' I sudden noise behind her made Daine spin wildly, only to find her looking down on a very small, very curious, and very bored smoky blue dragon.  
  
The god-born girl laughed. "Kitten," She replied to its chirrup, "You've been waiting for me, haven't you?" Her vulnerable mouth widened into a delighted smile. The immortal known as "Kitten" whistled in response.  
  
Suddenly, as if struck, Daine remembered her dream and what the voice had said about the gods. "'Pride less god'? Where have I heard that before, Kitten?"  
  
The dragon cocked her head to the left, understanding her statement.  
  
"How odd. Should I tell Numair?" She bit her lip hard. It had been ages since she had pondered at informing the mage anything. "No," Daine told herself firmly. "He doesn't need to baby me anymore, and he'll worry. Besides, it's been so peaceful the last few years. I just hope it doesn't spoil it."  
  
With a last heavy sigh, Daine led Kitten out the door. "C'mon, girl, let's go check on the Rider's ponies."  
  
'Cheeekab!' Her dragon replied agreeably.  
  
  
  
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The eerie darkness had resumed as before, and a giant shadow fell over Zekan. Instead of feeling fear, she only felt a deep resentment and anger. Hunters, She growled to herself. The ones who made this trap! With an indignant cry, the Scanran impulsively reached for her dagger - one she had learned to never be without - and yelled, "Who's there?! Show yourself!"  
  
The voice then echoed inside her head, like before. It was strong, firm, and gentle. It seemed to mock her subtly, jesting about her from afar. Very well, mortal  
  
Zekan, furious, replied loudly, "Who you calling mortal?!" Temporarily forgetting her injury, the redhead stood on her ankle, only to meet the gaze of the largest eyes she had ever seen.  
  
She screamed. The scream rung throughout the forest, then enveloping into the canopy of crimson leaves. The pain suddenly shot up her leg once more, and she dropped to the floor, Vision became blurry, and all she could see was the giant pair of eyes, silver in color, staring straight through her. The Scanran dropped her knife, falling into dead faint.  
  
She could hear her voice being called, over and over.  
  
"Where are you, hunters?? Show your face so I can gouge your eyes!" Zekan snarled fiercely. "I command you!"  
  
"Foolish mortal. Zekan. Zekan. Zekan."  
  
There was brief silence.  
  
"Awake!"  
  
Zekan jolted from her slumber. "A dream." She murmured. Rubbing her eyes, she cried out, the horribly huge face still remained. Opening her mouth to scream once more, the Scanran looked about frantically for the knife her father had given her, yet no sound emitted from her terrified mouth.  
  
Silence, girl-child. Listen to my words! Zekan immediately fell silent. The name you shall call me by is Sirk. Obey and heed my words, for you shall need them in the future. You were called for a reason. You were chosen for a reason. Zekanvealadas, you are different."  
  
The sudden jolt of reality struck the Scanran's mind. She was talking to a dragon. Irritation hit her as well, and she answered haughtily, "I don't understand... Sirk."  
  
Red began to tinge the dragon's pale green scales. Silver talons dug into the damp earth in contempt. End your foolish games! A snarl rose at his lips; if dragons do have lips, that is.  
  
"Explain it to me! Why? Why am I different?"  
  
The crimson faded gently, and his glare softened. You have been given a gift. You shall obey the will of the Dragonmeet, and I shall teach you.  
  
Dragonmeet? Gift? Zekan wondered silently. "I have no gift!" She shouted.  
  
Wrong. You do.  
  
The redhead hesitated. "Explain, sir."  
  
The time in the woods bordering Grimhold. You wandered far from home, and the women were calling to you.  
  
"Yet... I did not hear." Zekan breathed.  
  
Wrong, once more. You couldn't understand.  
  
"That's silly!" She growled in response. "I - I could hear them!"  
  
Liar, The dragon replied. You were speaking a language unknown by humans, lost to only a few scarce species of immortals. You have a gift to speak the tongue of the dragon.  
  
-------------------------  
  
"Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith!" Came the heated voice from inside a closed door. The wooden door was surging with heat, and a black glow emitted from the cracks.  
  
Veralidaine Sarrasri stood in the doorway. Numair hasn't been out since yester-noon. Timidly, she rapped her knuckles on the door.  
  
"Go away!" the frustrated male voice replied.  
  
Daine hesitated. "Numair?"  
  
The door opened to reveil a large man with black hair, sensitive face, and dark complexion. His long locks were tamed with a tie, pulled back into a messy horsetail. He looked at the woman before him kindly, happy to see her.  
  
"Sorry, Daine. I was... uh... working." The mage Numair Salmalin placed a big hand behind his neck, obviously embarressed at the room behind him, which lay in clutters, clouded with smoke.  
  
Daine waved her own hand in front of her nose, fanning the smog away, coughing. "It's alright." She smiled.  
  
'Chipchip!!' Kitten wagged her tail furiously, demanding attention. Numair chuckled and stroked the dragon's rough scales. "You need to be oiled, little one," he said to her.  
  
"Um, Numair?" Daine began, her smoky blue eyes fascinated with the flooring. "I had..."  
  
"Yes?" Her friend, teacher, and love questioned.  
  
The Gallan-born woman heaved a sigh, and concluded to hold back her question. "Nevermind."  
  
"Very well, love," he replied tenderly, though concern tainted his loving gaze. 


	4. Chapter Three : Yearning Truth

* Pokes Chapter Three * Hello, all ^^ More reviews. Special. Don't worry about the grammar and spelling mistakes. This is only a first draft. Hope you enjoy it! It's short, though. Very.  
  
A middle-aged woman, still as lovely and strong as she was in her youth, leaned against a gigantic door, held close with a large bolt, practically screamed to you it was restricted. Her hair was a fiery crimson, and eyes were tainted with a shocking shade of violet. Contrasting to her good looks, the female wore breeches and work clothes, and had knifes packed tightly against her belt. A sound proceeded from within; a man's voice. A young boy unbolted the door from the inside and walked out, motioning her to enter. The woman walked steadily in.  
  
Inside was yet another man of exceptional looks, dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. He nodded to the entering female, who returned the nod grimly.  
  
"'Morning, Alanna. What's the news?"  
  
Alanna heaved a sigh, "Well, it's not good. It's the Scanrans, Jon."  
  
"Scanrans?" Jon inquired, "What about them? I suppose they're raiding like crazy this season. Mithros help us if they ever start to move inland."  
  
"That's just out problem," The copper topped lady replied, "We would expect Scanra to stick to their style. They're sea-folk! But there are threats about moving inward. Even the borders of Galla have been getting some trouble."  
  
Jon rolled his eyes, "Worry? About this? Galla's inland coast is right next to Scanra. The land-dwelling rogues must have pulled it off. I doubt they even think about actually going against us for war. Why fight, anyways?"  
  
"I don't know, Jon. I'm just getting a feeling that something's not right here."  
  
A knock was heard at the door. "Come in!" The black-haired noble replied. The door proceeded to swing wide. There, Daine stood.  
  
A smile crossed Jon's face. "Hello, Daine," he said cheerfully, "Any thing happened?"  
  
"Good afternoon, Your Highness," The curly-haired woman responded, "Alanna. I wouldn't exactly say 'happened' is the right word..."  
  
-----------------------  
  
"Dragon tongue?" Zekan replied haughtily, "Is that a... language?"  
  
Of course it's a language, mortal! Sirk replied in her mind.  
  
Zekan's fingers slowly crawled to the dagger, perhaps her only chance of survival. But something held her there, not physically, but mentally. Something yearned for answers. Why am I so different? She has always wondered. Now, maybe this immortal had answers.  
  
"Please," the girl begged, "tell me why I am different. Tell me why I can speak like that. Why? I want to know!"  
  
The dragon's tone was firm, No. Not now. Later. The Dragonmeet will decide.  
  
"There you go again with this Dragonmeet! What is this 'dragonmeet'?" the Scanran's voice was getting impatient. She finally managed to grasp the dagger. She held it firmly in her hand, facing the immortal. It felt good.  
  
The Dragonmeet is the law of the dragons, all must obey its will in the Dragon Lands. Sirk replied calmly.  
  
"Dragon Lands?" Zekan asked, "You're talking in riddles again, sir."  
  
You just do not understand what is greater than you.  
  
"Yes I do!" retorted the redhead hotly, "That's nonsense!" In a mild rage, she flung her dagger harshly at the pale green dragon. The dirk simply hit his scales and bounced off, harmless. "TELL ME WHY I'M DIFFERENT!" screamed Zekan irately. She immediately broke down, crying hysterically.  
  
Mortal, Sirk told her, You will know in time. I am your mentor, I will teach you of your other gifts as well. We have little time to reach our destination.  
  
The girl dried her tears, followed in a chorus of hiccups, as she looked at the immortal curiously, "Where are we going, Sirk?" She asked, her fears slowly subsiding.  
  
To Tortall. He replied calmly, There, we you shall be welcomed, and your training will begin.  
  
"Tortall?" Zekan echoed. Tortall had been an enemy of her father since the time of his birth. Scanra was a country of raiders and bandits, who often hit along Tortall's coasts. I remember one time… we hit the coast, and killed many. A woman and her band drove us out. She's famous all over… The Lioness.  
  
Zekanvealadas? Sirk's words sliced through her mind like a knife, Are you ready to go?  
  
"Go?!" cried Zekan in respond, "I'm stuck in a hole with a broken ankle!"  
  
Are you? the dragon said slyly.  
  
Zekan eyed Sirk uneasily, not understanding his word. She attempted to move her ankle, and was surprised to find it completely painless. She was cured. Standing she looking up into his frightfully large eyes once more.  
  
"What did you do?" she demanded.  
  
I healed you, Sirk replied bluntly.  
  
"…Oh," Zekan saw Sirk's gigantic head moving forward into the ditch, and she opened her mouth to scream, when she clapped a hand hastily over it. He's only trying to help you! Her mind scolded, I think…  
  
Sirk lifted Zekan up gently, and set her on the floor. She scrambled for her dagger, and held it in front of her for protection. "Don't try anything," she told him, "If you're not here to help me, I can kill you!" the Scanran girl's voice was wary. She knew it wasn't true.  
  
Very well, Sirk replied with a smirk, Let's go. 


End file.
